


You are the Silence in Between

by reasonablywittyatbest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach, fandom: sherlock holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reasonablywittyatbest/pseuds/reasonablywittyatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has spent three years rebuilding his life around the hole that Sherlock Holmes has left, when Sherlock turns up on his doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the Silence in Between

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested listening: Florence and the Machine - No light, No Light

The first year is the hardest on John. It takes almost six months before he can eat without feeling sick. After one sleepless horrible night in 221B John moves out, the new flat is small and so very empty, but it's better than the constant ache of being surrounded by the things that remind him of Sherlock. His limp comes back, as does the shaking, and the nightmares start. Life fades to gray and every day he wakes up on his own and nothing of any importance happens. It is life before Sherlock all over again, but this time he hasn't just lost the excitement and purpose. He has lost his best friend, the man he admired more than any other, the man he loved, loves, though he would never say it out loud. He grows distant, it hurts too much to be around people he associates with Sherlock. They, to their credit, let him withdraw. He starts drinking and when he is drunk and he hears people talking about Sherlock there is almost always a fight. 

He is in a shop late at night picking up bandages the first time he sees the can of spray paint. It isn't the exact same kind, but it is the same color. He buys it on impulse. It is again an impulse as he walks home past the stretch of bricks that he stops. He can't help it , its late and dark and He spray paints on the wall "I believe in Sherlock Holmes." He feels something like pleasure when it catches on, but more vicious, he doesn't want them to ever forget Sherlock Holmes.

It is sheer force of will, the survival instinct they force into you before they put you on the battle field, that gets John through the first year. He forces himself out of bed, forces himself to work, forces himself to talk to people, and when it all gets too much, when the monotony overwhelms him, when he wakes up one too many nights in a row screaming as he watches Sherlock's body plunge to the ground again and again, he goes out and gets drunk and fights and vandalizes and when he wakes up in the morning, he can make it through the gray again.

\----

The second year is slightly better. He starts visiting Mrs. Hudson for tea, he starts going out drinking with Lestrade, and not just by himself. He can smile again, but so often it feels hollow. The limp remains, and the nightmares have grown worse not better but the pain they cause has become part of the monotony too. 

He meets Mary through a mutual acquaintance. It is a bit of a turning point. With her the smiles don't feel so hollow, and that is better than nothing. He has no idea what she sees in him, but she seems to enjoy him. They go on dates and conversation is not so hard and she doesn't push for detail about Sherlock so it works. He still goes out for fights, and he still spray paints the walls, and still he won't let the world forget the best man it has known.

\-----

The third year is much the same as the last. John fears the mundane life he is living might be killing him slowly, but he ignores it. John proposes to Mary after one night they go out and he really laughs for the first time in what seems like a life time. He moves into her flat and its better than living alone. John feels like he should do more for her, but she seems content with their average life. Seems to see something he doesn't see in himself. It is not the life he wants, but it's the one he has and he keeps going. He celebrates the third anniversary of Sherlock's death with a quiet night alone, brooding.

\-------

It is spring now and John is getting ready to make diner with his Fiancé, and there is a ring at the door. Mary is cutting up carrots, so John offers to get the door, grabbing his cane on the way he limps to open the front door, and standing there is Sherlock Holmes. 

His body goes into rebellion as he stands in the front doorway of his apartment. He can feel the physical manifestation of his mental and emotional rejection of what he is seeing; his stomach roils, his body flashes hot and cold, his throat tightens, he tries to say something but his jaw is clenched tight. He attempts to swallow a couple times, finally he is able to get out a single syllable, "Sher-" but his throat clamps up again. A few more swallows, the man in front of him is staring at him intently, .

"Hello John," Sherlock's voice is deep and perfect and exactly as he remembers it in his dreams, and hearing it again after all this time almost causes him to come completely unglued.

"Sherlock," he forces out the name, the name he has thought so often in the past three years, the name he has cried out as he wakes from nightmares, the name he has defended, fought for and never stopped believing in. John reaches his hand out and it bumps against a solid body, and his body finally gives up, the world goes bright around the edges and then dark.

He has no memory of Sherlock catching his body as it fell, or of how worried and almost panicked Sherlock was, or of how Mary found them slumped in the doorway as she came out of the kitchen to see what was taking him so long. Or how Mary reacted to Sherlock, the man she had only seen in pictures and only knew from what her husband had told her, when she could get him to talk about him, and who was supposed to be dead.

He wakes up on the sofa, disorientated, trying to figure out why he was there and not helping Mary cook diner, then he remembers. Remembers hearing the doorbell and opening the door to find a man who was dead on his doorstep. The same man he has never stopped missing. The man John had never ever stopped thinking about, even as he lay in bed with his fiancé. He shoots up, his body unresponsive and clumsy as he slams his shin on the coffee table in his haste to stand, he barely notices. The other two in the room jump out of their chairs, but none of them speak, it's clear there hasn't been much conversation while John was out cold. They both look at him, waiting for his reaction. 

John is the first to break the silence. "Sherlock," it's all he can say. He is still in shock, he says it again "Sherlock," and again "Sherlock." He stops after the third time, and Mary starts to speak

"John, This really is Sherlock Holmes? He's dead, right?" her voice is higher than normal, stress evident. John barely looks at her, eyes locked on Sherlock, he knows how gormless his face must look, he does not care. This cannot actually be happening.

Sherlock clears his throat, "Perhaps I could, ah, clarify, I'm sure this has come as a bit of a shock," John just nods and sits down again, his legs feeling weak, brain both buzzing and completely empty of any coherent thought, this is the most he has felt in years and even the pain and confusion is wonderful.

They listen in silence to his story, of Moriaty, and his web and the hunt, of the last three years spent on the run, Sherlock tells them almost all of it. It almost seems like Sherlock is pleading, asking for forgiveness and understanding with his details and deductions. What Sherlock doesn't mention is the nights, cold and alone, kept going only by the idea that this hunt had a greater purpose than his entertainment, the purpose of keeping those he had learned to love so dearly safe.

The two listen intently as the tale unfolds.; Mary with growing disbelief and John with so many emotions he has no idea what to do with them all, or even what they are, they're so foreign and so familiar. 

"And now, I'm here, it's over John, I'm back" Sherlock finishes his story, eyeing John uncertainly, intently with not a glance spared for Mary. Mary glances between the two of them, there isn't anything she can even say. John has his head in his hands, sitting of the sofa. He stays like that a moment longer, before hauling himself to the window passing both of them on the way. he leans heavy on the windowsill, staring unseeing at the street below. In the midst of all his emotion he feels a twinge of sadness, that the street he is looking out on is not Baker street.

"Mary, I need you to leave," She starts to protest, but John cuts her off "Just, I really need you to leave, please," he doesn't turn towards her, his voice is heavy and he swallows nervously, half expecting her to refuse. Mary stands to leave, glancing uncertainly between John and Sherlock, she is so confused and so concerned and she can't help but know that this will change everything, everything about the man she has fallen in love with and it is with a heavy heart she leaves the room, knowing she might be losing him.

Silence reigns for a minute, Sherlock is the one to break it, "John, I know this is coming as quite a shock." john turns abruptly, disbelief and disgust etched on his face. He finally settles on a feeling, the easiest one, rage. 

"Three years, Three years Sherlock, you can't just show up after being dead for three years." He can feel every single muscle in his body straining as gestures wildly he practically bellows at the man across the room from him. All the emptiness is gone, now, and anger has filled it's place. The world has regained its color and it is tinged red around the edges. "Do you know what my life has been for the last three years, do you? let me tell you, horrible! You left me all alone, you left me, and you lied to me. I never stopped believing in you though, no matter how many times they repeated the lies, no matter how many times they told me to stop being ridicules, that evidence was there, that you were a fraud." 

He is pacing, body jerking with each turn, his words are coming fast and the filled with anger still and his fists are clenched. "And I was so alone" he stops suddenly and just turns to Sherlock. His voice quiet "This isn't fair. I tried to move on you know, but I couldn't, you're even more horrible than they think, because how could anyone go back to a normal life after they've had a life with you. But I've done alright, I really have, I've made the most of it, " he was babbling now, looking anywhere but at Sherlock, his pacing has started again, slower and less angry than before. he runs his hands through his hair and sighs heavily. "And now you're here, and it isn't fair." His voice cracks on the last word, and he stops pacing. His back is to Sherlock and his heart is tearing itself apart. The joy and anger and hurt have come to a head and he can actually feel the tears in his eyes and it is terrifying after all this time and he notices he was walking without his limp and he can't believe any of this. If Mary hadn't seen him as well John would think he was hallucinating.

The silence drags, and Sherlock is the first one to move. He walks across the room, towards John. He knows there is nothing he can to say in his defense. He left knowing what he was doing would hurt John, and he always knew he would have to deal with the consequences. But seeing how broken John was, it hurt, so much more than he ever thought it would. He almost smiles at the thought of how sentimental he has become.

He is hesitant as he places his hand on John's shoulder, and when John looks up at him with his eyes wide and damp, full of hurt and hope Sherlock feels like something in him brakes as well. Listening to this man, this man who had made him human who had done so much for him, and had never stopped fighting for him scream his anger and frustration and hurt, it was to much now, and he knows nothing he can say will fix any of the hurt right now. He has no idea what to do, so he does the only thing he can. He throws his arms around John and holds him as tight as he can.

It takes a moment for john to respond to this unprecedented show of affection, but finally his arms sneak around Sherlock's too-skinny waist and he clings on for dear life as he feels all the walls he has built up in his mind over the last three years crumble down.

"John, I am sorry, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you." Sherlock murmurs into John's hair, and John doesn't reply, just holds on tighter.

\---------

Sherlock spends that first night back on John's sofa. He hears John come into the living room no less than half a dozen times. Neither of them sleep. 

\----------

It takes almost no time at all to bring Sherlock back to life, there is even barely any paperwork to fill out. John is sure this is Mycroft's doing. Telling people about it is another matter. John manages to talk Sherlock out of just bursting in on people like he did to him, he worries Mrs. Hudson's heart won't be able to withstand the shock. And Lestrade, the shock along with the stress of the last couple years, his heart may give out as well. 

It doesn't even take an entire day to tell the people who need to see Sherlock in person, there is shouting and crying and a little bit of celebration. Sherlock seems amused by the reactions of his friends, but John stays mostly silent. And he can't help but notice Sherlock sending him worried looks, when he thinks no one can see. There is nothing John can do to stop that or assure him nothing is wrong because that would be a lie, he needs time to sort through the mess that is his head, the jumble of emotions he had taken to thinking of as gone forever.

John tries to hide the hurt when he finds out that Molly knew all along, he pushes down the anger. Someone had to have been in on it, and he knows he should be grateful that Sherlock had some sort of ally the last three years. But all he can think of is how many times Molly had lied to him, shot him sad looks, and just watched as he suffered through three years. His resentment grows.

John has a lot of resentment towards Sherlock, he resents him for tricking him, lying to him, for leaving him for so long, for ripping a hole in his life and his heart and then coming back so suddenly. The resentment builds and dampens the joy he is also feeling. Because there is so much joy as well. He finds himself staring at Sherlock when he thinks Sherlock isn't paying attention too, watching how his face moves, all the little details he had forgotten. His smile, the forced one he puts on for people and the genuine one he wears when something thrills him. His laugh, his voice, everything. He has no idea how he lasted so long without it.

The tidal wave of emotion John felt come flooding back when Sherlock came back has been locked away, John finds himself unable to deal with any of it. But it's there, beneath the surface. He has locked it away with anger and resentment and fear of what it means for him, and for Sherlock and how things are between them.

Sherlock has planned his comeback well, videos and audio snippets and so much proof it is almost impossible to deny. John takes a vicious sort of pleasure in proving the doubters wrong. Sherlock slides back into society and back into Johns life as easily as if he'd just gone on a vacation for a week.

\---------

But things don't go back to the way they were. John does not move back in with Sherlock. John knows this is not wholly because of Mary, and his duty to and love of her, though he wishes it were. A small part of him knows it is because he cannot bring himself to forgive Sherlock, not yet. Cannot forget the nightmares and boredom and loneliness and that empty feeling he had to build around to continue living. He can't forget the way his hands shook and his leg ached and his heart felt hollow, and nothing felt worth it but he forced his way through it and how he'd built some semblance of a normal sort of life. The thought of it made him sick. And yet he longs to be that close to Sherlock again.

To his credit, Sherlock doesn't push. Doesn't try and force past the black moods that sometimes suddenly overcome his blogger. Doesn't try and stop him when John suddenly walks out on him in the middle of a case only to return a few hours later. He is afraid to push, in fear of pushing John away. He knows it is ridicules, the way John reacted to his return told him very clearly there was almost nothing he could do to lose John Watson. But he is still afraid of losing him none the less. So he watches from afar as John sorts through what it is that is driving him away. And if he brushes against him more often than necessary and stands closer than necessary John never seems to notice, or at least mind. 

Despite his conflicts John can't keep himself away from Sherlock, no matter how angry he is with him. He resists for all of two cases. The third time Sherlock invites him on a case, John goes. It really is not fair. Sherlock had given him life, and taken it away and now he had it back he was never going to let it go again, because how can any other life suffice after life with Sherlock.

Just being around Sherlock is thrilling, not just his brilliance, but everything about him. The way Sherlock moves and speaks and gets bored and manic and brushes past the niceties' of most people's everyday life, but can fake it as well, even the smell of him as he brushes past is beginning to drive him insane. Before John might have been in denial, but now even he can see it; losing Sherlock had made him almost lose his mind, he needs him. He needs Sherlock, and he doesn't know if Sherlock needs him but he will not let him go. But he still can't bring himself to move forwards either.

\-------

The first time john comes home injured after being on the chase Mary spends the entire time helping him clean himself up lecturing him. "How could you be so reckless? I don't even know why you go, it is so dangerous." And on and on. She does know though, she understands what is happening, and she really doesn't like to know she is losing him.

John thinks she will never understand how he feels, why he goes. Why he goes even when seeing Sherlock's face is almost enough to bring him to his knees again with all his conflicting emotions. How he needs the feeling he gets around Sherlock, and only Sherlock. How he had missed the battlefield, and even more importantly how he had missed his comrade, how he missed the feeling of just being around someone who shines so much brighter than all the rest.

Mary resents Sherlock, and as hard as she tries not to she realizes she probably always had resented him. All she can see when she looks at him is the person that held back John, a good man, she believes if John hadn't met Sherlock he'd be happier for it. She heard the story of why Sherlock had done it, left him, but she cannot understand why he had to make him watch. She sees a selfish man. But she also sees that Sherlock really and truly brings out the best in John, something she had never been able to do, and she couldn't help but think that even when he was dead she was always second fiddle to him. She can't hate him though. For coming back, not after seeing how much more alive John is.

Sherlock keeps well away from John's flat, after the second time he was there he deduced all there was to Know about Mary Morstan, and the scene hadn't been pretty. It is an incident they would all like to forget.

John really does love her, learned to love her over the last two years, and even more so now that his mind is cleared of the fog that had hung around it. The thought of hurting her is almost unbearable. But what is he supposed to do, how could anyone live a normal life when the option of living life with Sherlock was available. So he keeps going out, waits for the texts with baited breath and enters the fight every time.

\------

Mary is increasingly frustrated; sick of John going in and out at all hours, sick of being second fiddle to this man. The first time they really row over it she yells across the living room "How can you even stand him after what he did to you," and the silence weighs heavy in the room. 

John smiles sadly, "Well, I don't really have a choice." And it's true; he needs Sherlock. And though he has not even began to deal with the tangled mass of emotion he has, he will forgive Sherlock, and the hurt will fade and he will learn to trust him again. John doesn't know how long it will take, or what it will take for it to happen, but it will happen. And after that, he has no idea. The fight ends, and they eat their diners in separate rooms.

A week passes and not much changes and then he comes home with broken ribs, pained but exhilarated and she issues an ultimatum, "him or me John, him or me, I won't keep living like this."

She has been so good to him, so understanding of his dark moods, brought on when ever John came unprepared upon something related to Sherlock. Never questioned where he'd been when he came home late at night half drunk with blood on his knuckles, never looked twice at his hands covered in yellow spray paint. Never even commented on how the both incidents had gotten less frequent. She would never complain when he woke up in horrified in the night, would just pet his head and tell him it was all going to be ok. She loves him, broken pieces and all, and John really could not have asked for better. But somehow even with all this in mind, he cannot help it the next time Sherlock sends a text summoning him, he sits and fidgets and tries his hardest but like any other addict he finally gives in and leaves. 

When he comes home later that night he finds Mary sitting on the couch, waiting, and his spirits fall. He sits down next to Mary, and rubs his face tiredly, "why did you fall for me in the first place?" Genuine curiosity drives his question, the more he looks back on how he was, the more he realizes what a mess he was. 

A heavy sigh precedes her answer. "Oh John, you're a good man, anyone can see that. I guess I just figured it was better to have a broken good man, than a bad one. I thought I could fix you. That was silly of me, I know. It's silly, really" The silence stretches until Mary breaks it, "You two make a lovely couple."

When john looks at her bemused and there is a small sad smile playing over her lips, "You really love him don't you?"

John can only nod and rub his face with his hand again, he knows this is true. He loves Sherlock like he has never loved anyone else and he is starting to see what the implications of that are and it scares him, "I wish it could have been different, Mary, I really do."

"I know" 

"I'm so sorry." There is nothing else he can say. He spends the night on the couch mourning the loss of this relationship.

\------------------

He calls Lestrade in the morning and together they pack up all his stuff and when it comes time to say goodbye to Mary there isn't much to say and John feels so guilty for doing this to her, and wishes he could blame this on Sherlock as well. But he knows it is all him, and he knows she deserves better than someone with split loyalties and so they hug and say goodbye and then he drives away.

\-----------

Sherlock gives him the most amazing smile when they arrive, if only for a second, and then Lestrade invites them to a crime scene. His boxes stay packed for three days as they race through London, on the hunt, thrilling and intoxicating as the colors of London spin around them and finally, finally John feels fully alive again, the hole filled and the gray gone. 

When they finally kiss it is in the front room of 221B, and they cling to each other as only two people who are not complete without the other can. John can't help but be afraid if he lets go Sherlock will disappear again, Sherlock wants nothing more than to make up for lost time. As they cling to each other the words so long left unsaid fall out, and it is terrifying and wonderful and exactly perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> After Reichenback I had some pretty strong feels. And then I read fics and they inspired the fuck out of me, and I had my own vision of what should happen so I decided to write this down. I started this as a fic that was supposed to go in an ask box on Tumblr, and then it grew, like fungus, I also started this like a month ago and hit a snag finishing it. I'm overall happy with it, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
